


Grounded

by Motherof4dragons



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Kylo is an airline pilot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quarantine, Rey is kinda punk, Smut, Warning there be smut ahead, brothers best friend, i make no apologies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Motherof4dragons/pseuds/Motherof4dragons
Summary: ReyWhen shit hits the fan, it splatters everywhere.As a single woman who works from home, the world shutting down around you isn't impactful. Seriously, what changes? You're already locked away, isolated in your own little bubble.But then a pandemic strikes, restrictions are put in place, and along comes Kylo.My childhood crush and my brother's best friend. Oh, did I mention he's a hot as sin Airline Pilot? With a quarantine in full effect, he's grounded two-thousand miles from home and—you've guessed it, begging for my couch and a fridge to eat out of until, well, to be determined.Locked at home is one thing. Locked inside with Kylo is a whole other beast. I'm officially screwed.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 23
Kudos: 163





	Grounded

**Author's Note:**

> THERE BE SMUT AHEAD! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

_**Chapter 1** _

_**Rey** _

_"Citywide shelter in place order."_

Click.

_"Statewide shelter in place order."_

Click.

_"Nationwide quarantine is now in effect. As of eight p.m. tonight, all flights are grounded. International travel is suspended. All businesses, excluding essential services, are to close their physical locations."_

Click. 

I turn the radio off, tired of hearing the same speech in different accents. Frankly, I'm pretty put out over the whole situation.

Not the quarantine. No. I couldn't give a rat's ass about that. I'm single, work from home, and have few to no friends outside my social media. Tomorrow looks no different than yesterday did for me. No, what I'm ticked off about is we finally have a genuine, end of the world pandemic, and we haven't had a single resurrected corpse.

I mean, isn't this what ten years of _The Walking Dead_ have prepared us for? The zombie apocalypse? Yet, here we are. Apocalypse—without the zombies. It's kind of a letdown, to be honest.

I pull into my gravel driveway, the familiar jostle of my car a balm to my ruffled feathers. My trunk is overflowing, and the eighteen pack of eggs sitting in the passenger seat reminds me I'll need to move some shit around in my kitchen as I put the groceries away. 

_You'll never use a Costco membership,_ they said. _Why bother, when it's only you?_ they said. Well, joke’s on them now, isn't it? Who won't have to leave the house again for at least three weeks? 

That's right! This chick won't.

I slow as I approach my house, which sits back from the street, hidden by trees and a steep hill.

There's a man on my porch. With a suitcase. Wearing a pilot's uniform.

I sit in wonder, my car still idling, as the man rises to his feet and stretches before giving me a small smile, waving his hand in a slow sort of half flail.

I recognize him. _I think._

_Kylo_.

What the hell is he doing here?

Before I have a chance to get out of my car, my phone rings my brother's tone. He doesn't even wait for my hello before he's barking in my ear.

"Shell, I need a favor."

Surprise, surprise.

There's no chance he was calling to, _say_ , _check_ on me. Since we're in the middle of a worldwide pandemic and all. No. Poe would only call if he needed something.

"Let me guess: it involves a certain childhood bestie."

"How'd you know?" he asks, genuine bewilderment in his voice. Not the brightest crayon in the box, my brother. Actually, that's not true. He _is_ the brightest crayon in the box. Neon yellow. A color that doesn't play well with others. It's not his fault; I can't hold it against him.

"Because Kylo is currently sitting on my front porch."

"Oh," he says, and the silence grows between us before he finally speaks again. "He called me a few hours ago, but I got distracted. I didn't realize he'd be at your place so soon. Sorry, Sis."

Naturally. 

He's not a bad guy, my brother. He's on the spectrum, and while I've always felt he got all the good stuff from it, his personality is rough around the edges. Poe, brilliant as he is, can only concentrate on one thing at a time. He's a number cruncher. Anything that breaks that focus gets pushed to the side until he has the bandwidth to concentrate on it. Apparently, warning me that his best friend would be showing up on my doorstep was apparently not as critical as whatever problem he was solving.

"Feel like filling me in on _why_ he _is_ at my place?"

Kylo is staring at me from the porch, hands in his pockets. I point at my phone and give a “what are you going to do?” motion with my hands. He grins and offers a half shrug, telling me he already knows what the problem is. 

He's as familiar with Poe’s _eccentricities_ as the rest of us are. 

Kylo looks good. _Real good_ _._ I haven't seen him in years. Not since he left the Air Force. His hair has grown out some—not super long by any means, but not the military's short, angular cut. He has the beginnings of a thick black goatee, and God damn does it look good on him. His skin, pale from his European ancestry, has a golden hue, like he spends his free time lounging in the sun. 

Then, of course, there's the airline pilot dress shirt stretched tight across his chest. What is it about a man in uniform that makes a girl’s heart flutter? 

I give a half-wave in return and put up one finger. I don't make a move to get out of the car yet.

"Have you been following the news?" Poe asks, and I can't help but smile.

"Yes, Poe, I'm aware of the global epidemic."

He's almost five years older than me, and he forgets, like he forgets so many other things, that I've been an adult for a long time now.

"Kylo was in the air when they grounded the planes. They allowed his flight to reach its destination, but now he's stuck. Then he remembered you live in Atlanta. We wondered if he could crash with you until he can make other arrangements."

Make other arrangements. 

That's going to be almost impossible. Everything is either closing or closed. Most hotels are under quarantine, with no guests in or out until testing has been completed. Even if you live in-state. Wherever you are now, you're pretty much stuck there.

_Son of a bitch._

Kylo is stuck with me.

"Why does he have to stay with me? He's a pilot for heaven's sake. Surely, he can afford to rent an Airbnb or something."

There's little to no hope of that. I know it. But it doesn't mean I'm going to sit here and not put up a fight. 

"Sure, he could," my brother replies, " _if_ he could." And somehow that makes perfect sense to me. "But why should he have to? He's like family to me. To us. Besides, dad told me you had a to-do list a mile long for that delipidated horror you live in. He was planning on driving up this summer to help you with it. Now, Kylo can cross some of the items off the list."

Shit. It's not like I can tell them no. I close my eyes, keeping my deep sigh internal.

"Of course, Poe. I'll take care of him."

We hang up quickly after that. Once Kylo's problem is taken care of, at least in Poe’s opinion, my brother feels very little need to talk to me. 

I sit in the car a minute longer, trying to gather my wits about me. _Kylo_ is on my front porch.

I used to have a crush on him. A _write his initials in a heart, practice signing his last name, follow him around like a puppy dog_ kind of crush. He's a few years younger than Poe and made a habit of checking in on me every few days after Poe left for college. At least until he left too. I know now he was only doing it for my brother, but it made me feel special at the time.

But that was ages ago. I hardly think of him now. I'm almost thirty. I own my own home. I'm beyond the point in life where objects of childhood infatuation make me go weak in the knees. 

I lock them when I climb out of my car just to make sure.

Kylo’s smile grows by the mile as I climb the front porch with my bag of eggs, pausing to stand in front of him. Half my mouth twists up in a _long time no see_ way, but when I reach for the door, his face falls. 

He looks at me, expression twisted into something I can't read. The tension in the air rises, and I desperately want to step out of his line of sight. I put the key into the lock and freeze when I hear him behind me.

"Holy shit," he mutters, and I glance around my yard, looking for what caused his exclamation.

"What?" I breath, scanning the space. Did the murder hornets make it to Atlanta?

"Sorry," he chokes out, and raises his hand to scratch at his goatee before wrapping it around the back of his neck. "I don't remember you being so hot. It caught me off guard."

I freeze, my blood dropping to my feet only to race around my nervous system. A nervous giggle slips from my lips, and I want to run my head into the nearest surface. _A giggle? Really, Rey?_

"Thanks. I think," I drawl out, turning the key and opening the door. “I can’t tell if that was an insult or a compliment.”

“A compliment, for sure,” he chuckles, and I feel the heat bloom in my cheeks again.

At the wave of my hand, he precedes me into the house, dragging his suitcase with him. 

"Poe didn't warn you I was coming, I take it,” he says, looking around my tiny living area.

"No," I sigh, then try to paste a smile onto my face. "It's not his fault—you know how he is." 

Kylo is standing by the door, and an indulgent smile tips up his lips.

"Yeah, I do. It's partly my fault. Or really, all my fault. I should have gotten your phone number when I called him, and then called you from the plane too. With everything going on though, it slipped my mind. I called him from the cockpit, using the satellite phone."

"You remembered to get my address though," I reply a little dryly. 

"Well, yes. Like I said, it's my fault. Not Poe’s."

"Some would argue it's the pandemic’s fault," I smart back, and my stomach swoops when his ear to ear smile graces his face again. He really is handsome.

"So, I take it you're going to take me in? Like a stray dog?"

"Do you want to sleep in the back yard?" I wonder, and his eyes flash in amusement. "Or I could make you a doggy bed at the foot of the couch."

"My sister's dog sleeps with her," he offers, and I grin at him before realizing what he said. 

This got dangerous fast. 

Fixing a smile on my face, I tip my head in the living room's direction and move us away from the front door. 

"Sorry," he says, somewhat abashed. "Old habits die hard."

"What habits would those be?"

Cause he certainly wasn't joking about sleeping in my bed the last time I saw him. Of course, I was still in college. Or maybe just out?

After I hit the button for my trunk, I throw my keys onto the kitchen counter, dropping my wallet next to them. The eggs go in the fridge, and I pull a few containers of _never going to get eaten_ leftovers out, dumping the food into the trash before dropping the dishes down in the sink. He's followed me into the kitchen and is leaning against the entryway, watching me as I putter around.

"The _flirting with beautiful women_ kind. I'll try to keep it contained."

I look at him from over my shoulder. His hands are in his pockets, and he's just standing there, staring at me with that weird look on his face.

That's twice he's called me beautiful, in about the same number of minutes. Or hot. Or whatever. The point still stands.

But then he apologized?

Oh God, this is going to be a long couple of weeks.

"Again. Thanks—I think," I reply, thoroughly lost for words.

He roughly clears his throat, grabbing at the back of his neck again.

"Anyway, thanks for taking me in, Sting Ray," he says, and his eyes are sincere.

I blush again, caught off guard by the old term of endearment. My brother and I were both named after cars. The Corvette Stingray and Porsche. When I was a kid, they used to call me Sting Ray, but no one has called me that in years.

"You're welcome." 

I face him and, against my will, my knees quake at having him filling up my space. I mean, _Kylo_ is standing in my kitchen. The moment stretches between us, the tension in the air thick and heavy.

I pop my chewie in my mouth and, at his bemused look, spit it back out and rub my hands together instead.

"Let me get my car emptied, and we'll get you situated."

He jumps as if I've electrocuted him. "Oh, yeah, sure. Of course. Let me help." Before I can do more than blink, he's out the door and bounding down the front porch. Like a stray puppy I picked up off the side of the road. What just happened to my life?

_**Chapter 2** _

_**Rey** _

“Let me give you the tour of the place.”

I wipe my hands off on my leggings, suddenly nervous in a way that makes me nauseous. It’s disconcerting, to say the least, to go from being alone all the time to suddenly having a person all up in my business. A stranger, for all intents and purposes. I mean, Kylo is Poe’s friend. Not mine. We were friendly at one point in time, but it’s been years since we’ve had a conversation.

“It’s not large, as you can tell. But it’s home. This is the front area,” I say, as I spread my arms wide in demonstration. It’s one large open space, with the living area being separated from the grandly termed dining room by my couch. I do have a dining table, but it’s currently playing host to a 3000-piece puzzle I’ve been working on for the last month.

There used to be a fireplace in the corner, but the previous owners had it blocked off.

There’s a sliding glass door that opens out to the back yard. I have a kiddy pool I keep filled for the random animals that traipse through the space, and there is a fire pit. Two lawn chairs sit on the concrete slab under the awning.

I walk across the living room to the far wall that holds three doors. On either side of the doors are pictures and artwork on the wall.

“This is the bathroom.”

I open the middle door, showing my galley bathroom. I only have the one, but it’s fairly spacious, if a little run down. The entire house is run down. Slowly, _very_ slowly, I’m bringing it back up to date.

“This is my room,” I inform him as I open the door, then immediately squirm as he steps into the doorway to look. It’s rude, I want to say, to examine a woman’s private space. But I’m the one that opened the door for him, so I really have no one to blame but myself.

My bed is a queen size, neatly made with my grandmother’s quilt folded at the foot. There’s a matching set of bedside tables, distressed and well loved. I purchased them from an antique shop with the intention of refinishing the wood, then never got around to it. The closet is overfilled, with clothing and shoes spilling into the bedroom proper.

There’s a dresser in the corner with a huge tabletop mirror taking up most of the space. Knickknacks and stacks of books take up every other usable surface. Plus, some not so usable, as I turn a critical eye to the armchair I used to read in and now use to house all my junk. Including the book pile so high it’s tilting to the side.

I turn my gaze to him and watch as he catalogues the shoe rack filled with heels I never wear. The pile of stuffed animals that I am way, _way_ too old for, yet still can’t seem to part with. I watch as his eyes linger on my bed, and something dark and primal flashes across his face before it clears so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it.

I try to pull the door shut, and when he refuses to take the hint, grab him by the back of the belt and give him a yank to get him moving.

He throws his hands into the air as if in mock surrender.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just taking in all the book titles. Seeing if there was anything I’ve read.” He smirks as he backs out, insincerity dripping from his voice.

Since most of the books in there are of the bodice ripping variety, I highly doubt he has.

“Well then, if you like to read, you’re in for a treat. Here’s where you’ll be. It also doubles as my office, but if you give me a few, I’ll get all my work crap out of the way.”

I pull my door shut again and open the one to the spare room. The bed is another queen, with a dark blue bedspread. The dresser is pushed into the closet, and every spare scrap of wall space is taken up by shelving and bookcases. At last count there were almost a thousand books in here, the paperbacks stacked ten high and three deep in one bookcase.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, and I take a moment to preen under his shocked expression.

“I check Facebook and Craigslist for bookstores or libraries that are going out of business. One day I drove six hours to get to one but came home with hundreds of hardbacks shoved into my car. I give away any duplicates I get. Either to schools or libraries around the city.”

“Wow,” he says. “Very impressive.”

I follow him into the room, heading toward the desk that holds my computer, but he pulls me to a stop with his hand on my arm.

“You don’t need to move your office stuff. I can sleep on the couch. It’s not a problem.”

I do a double take when he says that.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. That’s why I have a spare room. For guests. _You_ ,” I say as I emphasize the word by poking him in the chest, “are a guest. It’s not normally a problem, because I have a chance to clear all my crap out before they get here. I can work from my bedroom.”

Kylo squares his shoulders, folding his arms across his chest.

“I am _not_ a guest. I’m a squatter, at worst. At best, I’m a weird sort of family member, maybe a third cousin twice removed, who shows up unannounced and expects you to cook for them. Seriously Sting Ray, you shouldn’t rearrange your life just to accommodate me.”

I giggle at the thought of him being a squatter, because, honestly, the description isn’t that far off the mark.

“We’ll call a truce, for now. I don’t have to be signed in for work again until Monday. They closed operations to give everyone a chance to get situated with the new arrangements. We can take up the discussion again this weekend. I’ll go grab your suitcase.”

I turn tail and run before he has a chance to put up any more of a fight. Not that we can’t hold a conversation between the living room and the spare bedroom. The whole house is less than 900 sq. feet. But he was raised with enough manners to know when not to push his host, and I’ve obviously reached that limit.

I take a minute to center myself and readjust to the person who was just thrust upon me.

When I drag his suitcase into the room, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt partially unbuttoned and pulled from his dress slacks. Caught with his guard down, the stress of the past couple of hours shows clear as day on his face.

“Thanks Sting Ray,” he says, running his fingers roughly through his hair. “I really appreciate you taking me in. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you.”

The desire to comfort him is strong, but I wrap my arms around myself instead.

“No problem, Kylo. Take a load off, and I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

Before I do anything stupid, like hug him, I leave the room, closing the door behind me.

*****

He’s out less than twenty minutes later. The work clothes are gone, replaced with jeans, a plain shirt, and a pair of sneakers in one hand. He seems transformed, by more than just his clothes. Where a few minutes ago he was tired and worn out, now there’s a bounce in his step.

“Show me this to-do list I’ve heard so much about.”

I doubletake at his words, surprised that he even remembers that.

“How about you sit back and watch some tv or something instead. I have Hulu, Netflix—everything, really. You’ve had a hard day. My to-do list is not your concern.”

He looks up at me through his eyelashes, bent over his knees lacing up his converse.

“Nope. Poe told me to put a dent in the list, so that’s what I’ll do. Besides, I spent seven hours in a plane this morning. I like to burn some energy on days I fly, to counteract all the sitting. My dad is a contractor, remember? Taught me all he knows. No offense, but this place could use a little TLC.”

I try, and fail, not to take any offense at his words. The house _is_ falling apart. But I love it anyway. It has exposed beams, and walls with wood paneling. This home was built in the 50’s, and it’s my goal to restore it to its former glory.

“I know. The couple I bought it from leased it out to college students, and college students aren’t known for taking good care of their places. In turn, the owners didn’t put a lot of money into it. I mean, why waste the funds, right? When the next person would just destroy it again.

“I rented it during my last two years of school. It’s away from campus, but not so far the commute was terrible. It’s in a good neighborhood. When school was over, I asked if I could stay, and they let me. I bought it from them two years ago, when the wife was diagnosed with cancer, and they decided to tour the world before...” My voice trails off, unable to complete the sentence. They were good to me. I still get a Christmas card from Mr. Penchou every year. I miss his wife’s cookies.

“No. I understand. It’s sentimental to you.” I nod, swallowing the swell of emotion that snuck up my throat. I continue after I clear my throat.

“Poe’s right. I do have a fixer upper list a mile long. Big things, like the porch.” Kylo smirks at that. It’s drooping on one side. Poe’s slight OCD has strong emotions about my front porch. So strong that he comes in through the back of the house. “And little things like painting, and buying a counter refinishing box from Lowes.”

He gives me a skeptical look. “Counter refurbishing is a little thing?”

“It comes in a box,” I say with annoyance. “How hard could it be?”

All he does is laugh at me.

Pushing up from my position on the couch, I motion for Kylo to follow me out of the house and to the shed off to the side of the carport.

This is one of those properties that used to house a dozen old broken-down cars, with tractor parts scattered all over the yard. The Penchous owned ten acres around the property, but by the time I bought it from them, they were down to an acre and a half. If you walk through my backyard and the two hundred feet of trees behind that, you’ll find a subdivision where their property line used to be. You can also see the remains of old houses that used to be here and were trashed when newer versions were raised. This land has been in use since the revolution.

The house is old enough that it doesn’t have an attached garage, but to make up for it has three different storage sheds. This one is closest to the house and has electricity and the back-up generator.

My family may hate the fact I live in such a rural area, but the last time the modern neighborhoods around here lost power for three days, I was still able to stream Netflix.

“My tools and stuff are in here. I already bought the wood to fix the porch, but then never got around to it. I had a handyman once who was supposed to do it, but he never got around to it either.”

He turns in a circle with his hands on his hips before picking up the hot pink tool belt from the top of the wood pile and slinging it around his hips.

I’m at a loss for words at how adorably hot he looks with a pink hammer at his thigh.

“I think I’ve got everything I need,” he says with a smile, tightening the belt around his hips. “I’ll give you a holler if I need ya.”

“You sure?” I ask, guilty about leaving him out here all by himself. Sweat from the humidity is already breaking out on his forehead, and I almost swoon at what a good look it is for him.

What the hell is happening here? This morning was just a regular day, and now Kylo is wearing my toolbelt.

“Scram, Sting Ray. I got this.” He winks at me, grinning ear to ear, before physically pushing me out of the stuffy, sticky shed. I hesitate for a moment, but then turn on my heel, running for my cell phone.

There’s only one person I can trust in a time like this. Rose Tico. My best friend.

Me: Help! I need your help! I am so fucked.

Rose: Really? What kind of fucked. The bad kind, or the I need to rest my private parts kind?

Me: The three ways to Sunday kind.

Rose: Well, stop freaking out and tell me about it. Let Aunty Rose fix all your problems.

I can’t help but feel the wash of relief that pours through me. Even though she’s only 32, she’s got the spirit of an old drunken grandmother. The kind that’s been everywhere and done everything and who only shares her wisdom over a martini and a smoke.

I hit the button to video chat, and it doesn’t even finish one ring before her face takes up my screen.

“So, what’s the problem?” she drawls from what looks like a break room. Someone passes behind her before I hear a door squeak. She’s a nurse, and as such has been pulling insane hours the last few weeks. Normally, I wouldn’t be so open with the threat of other people around, but I’m too worked up to care at this point.

“So, Kylo, my brother’s best friend since they were kids, is an airline pilot. And the planes are grounded. And he just happened to be in Atlanta, or on his way to Atlanta, when all this shit went down, and now he’s wearing my pink toolbelt, and on his hands and knees examining my porch.”

Her eyebrows raise at my nonsensical rambling, but she doesn’t try to interrupt me.

“And he’s cute, and super flirty, and I maybe had an itty bitty tiny little crush on him when we were kids, and I don’t know how I’m going to last with him living in my house for the foreseeable future. Can you, like, come stay with us too, or something? So that I don’t spend the next, oh I don’t know, _infinity,_ making a fool out of myself?”

She sits down in a chair, bringing a mug of coffee to her lips to blow on the rising steam.

“Is that a euphemism? Or is he actually looking at the porch? And how cute are we talking? Justin Timberlake with the afro cute, or Jason Momoa coming out of the water?”

I walk to the window, casting my gaze around for Kylo. He’s stripped off his shirt and is only wearing jeans and a grey muscle shirt. He put on the pair of gloves the last handyman left behind and is staring at the porch, with the tape measure in his hands. I hit the button to change the video on my phone to front facing, so she gets a view of Kylo through the glass.

“Wow. Bone him. STAT,” comes from the five-inch screen in my hands. I peek a glance down at her, then go back to watching Kylo. He catches me staring from the window and smiles, and I give a wave before backing away and collapsing onto the couch, changing the video back to me.

“Thanks a lot, Rose. This is exactly the pep-talk I needed. _NOT_. You’re supposed to be helping me keep my hormones in check for the next however long, not encouraging me to let the beast out.”

She rolls her eyes at me as she brings her coffee to her lips.

“First, you don’t have a beast. You know it, I know it, we all know it. You have a timid little bunny rabbit that runs away at the first sight of fun. Second of all, why _can’t_ you do him? It’s not like you have a lot of other options. See point one.”

“You’re a bitch. And a horrible human being, and because he’s my brother’s best friend!”

“Even more reason to do him. The forbidden act will make it hot. Besides, he looks like he could break your curse. And you know what they say, if at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. If he’s really stuck there with you with no end in sight, there’s gonna be a hell of a lot of time to try.” She sounds positively giddy.

I growl in frustration, throwing my phone onto the cushion next to me. Then I grab it back up, and politely flip her the bird. Not to be outdone, she pretends to suck a dick. Man, I hope no one is there with her.

“Let me ask you this. What kind of flirty are we talking about here?”

I pop my chewie between my teeth, already blushing at the thought of it.

“Umm, he referred to himself as a stray dog, then told me his sister lets her dog sleep in her bed.”

Rose whistles in appreciation.

“Well okay then. Look, as far as I can tell, this is a perfect situation for you. There’s a gorgeous man trapped in your house giving you tons of signals he’d like to get in your pants. I don’t see what the problem is.” She lowers her voice, her tone taking on a sincere quality. “Why don’t you use this opportunity, while you’re literally stuck in your comfort zone, to get _out_ of your comfort zone a little. Loosen up, have some fun. You could use a little unpredictability in your life.”

An mmmm sound slips between my lips as I take my worry out on my chewie.

“You could always send him to stay with me if you want.”

She’s laughing as I throw my phone back onto the cushions.

**_ Chapter 3 _ **

**_ Kylo _ **

Twenty-four hours. It’s barely been a whole day, yet I’m quietly dying inside.

_Of horniness._

“What do you do for fun?” I ask.

We’re sitting at the kitchen table, the puzzle pushed carefully to the corner to give us just enough space to put our plates down.

She made homemade pizza for dinner, and it was amazing. I’m not sure why I’m so surprised. Maybe because every other woman I know considers food _homemade_ if the person she bought it from made it from scratch. Rey even has a pizza stone. I didn’t realize you could buy those.

She turns those big brown eyes at me, and my dick starts to stir in my pants.

_She’s your best friend’s baby sister._

She’s different than the type of girl I usually go for. My hookups are usually completely put together. Not a hair out place, makeup perfectly applied. Blonde or brunette, tall and curvy, they almost look as if they were manufactured on an assembly line.

Rey, well, she couldn’t be more dissimilar if she tried. Her hair is shaved on the sides and long on top, a shade of pink so pale as to almost be white. When it’s down, like it is now, you can’t even tell its shaved underneath. When it’s off of her neck, she looks like a badass rocker chick. Her roots are coming in dark, and that only adds to the appeal.

As far as I can tell, she’s not wearing a trace of makeup. She’s tall. Not nearly as tall as me, but tall for a woman. She’s got meat on her hips I’m already dying to bruise with my fingers. She’s got edges as sharp as a razor blade, and I’m desperate to cut myself against her.

_She’s your best friend’s baby sister_. _She’s your best friend’s baby sister._ I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve repeated that in my head since I showed up on her doorstep, but I’m sure it’ll be in the millions before I get out of this place.

I watch in awe as she licks her finger and twirls the tip around the top of her bottle. I’m sure she didn’t think anything of it. It’s probably a habit she’s had for years. But I have to resist groaning at the image of her pink little tongue slipping between her lips as she brings her finger to her mouth.

_She’s your best friend’s baby sister._

“Nothing, really. I mean, I read—like obsessively. I watch movies. I have every streaming service you could possibly want. My best friend from college, Rose, still lives in the Atlanta area, and we hang out once a month or so. But she’s a social butterfly, and I’m more a fly on the wall type of girl. What about you?”

I can’t get over how much she’s changed in the years since I’ve seen her.

That’s not quite true. She was all grown up the last time we saw each other, too. Only then, her entire family was there, and the idea of banging her on her kitchen floor never would have crossed my mind.

Now though? Fuck me, man.

“I bang flight attendants,” I blurt, then mentally kick myself. “I mean—” Instead of being upset or offended though, she tips her head back and laughs.

Best. Friend’s. Baby. Sister.

She’s a ball of nerves on one hand, but oddly chill in her own skin on the other. She has this air about her that says she has no idea how fucking sexy she is, and that just makes it even worse. I want her.

Bad.

“Well, of course, you do. You’re a pilot, you’re single, and you’re good looking. I bet the...” She hesitates for a moment, as if searching for a word before tossing her hand out in success. “The pilot pussies all adore you.”

I choke back my laughter at that. “Pilot pussy? Think of that all by yourself?”

“No. Well, kinda. In romance novels, they call the girls that go after sports stars bunnies. So, a puck bunny, punt bunny, and basketball has the hoop hoes, and so on. I was just trying to come up with one for pilots.”

I take a swig of my beer before I reply.

“My friend’s girlfriend calls them sky sluts,” I tell her, only slightly abashed. It is what it is. I love my life. I’m not embarrassed by it—too much, at least. I need to remember that I can’t talk to her like I can her brother, though. No stories of blowjobs in the cock pit. Emphasis on cock.

“Sky sluts,” she muses. “I like it.”

Her phone goes off for about the hundredth time today, and she rolls her eyes before placing it face down on the table again.

“Who was that, your boyfriend?” I ignore the uncomfortable sensation that accompanies the question.

“No. My friend Rose. She’s sending me dirty gifs combined with words of encouragement.”

I want to ask her what’s _that_ about, but she pops that stupid rubber thing in her mouth again, and I watch her roll it between her lips for a few moments before I finally crack.

“Okay. I’m sorry, but I have to ask. What the hell is that?”

She blushes, a beautiful, intoxicating sight, before spitting the rubber wand out as if it caught fire.

“Oh. Yeah, um...” She pulls the black cord from around her neck, dangling it between us. I grab the cord from her hand and bring it to eye level for closer inspection. Despite the tooth prints in the rubber, I can see it’s in the shape of a light saber. She’s hesitant and embarrassed, phrasing every sentence as if it’s a question. “It’s from a website that specializes in gear for people with autism? Children, mostly. But they have a chewable section?”

Finally, she shrugs, as if it can’t get any worse.

“I have a bit of an oral fixation. I used to be a horrible nail biter; I’m not sure if you remember. Then I graduated to hard plastic: pens, bottle caps, that sort of thing. Highlighters, which, as you can imagine, were pretty hard on my teeth. My dentist suggested I try something from this website, and it’s been a balm. I go through like one a month, because I’m a hard-core chewer, but at least I’m not at risk for chipping a tooth anymore.”

My mind fuzzed out about the time she mentioned oral fixation.

“Oral fixation?” I repeat, the phrase now stuck in my imagination.

“Yeah,” she replies, looking me in the eye. “It means I like to have things in my mouth.”

Sweet Jesus Christ.

She’s Poe’s baby sister.

She’s _Poe’s_ baby sister.

Needing something, anything, to cool my rising libido, I bring the rest of my beer to my lips and chug it down. When that doesn’t help, I grab hers and do the same. The look she gives me as I swallow the chilled liquid says she knows exactly what she’s done to me. She’s the first to break eye contact, though, dropping her gaze, then gathering the plates from the table.

“You must be exhausted. I don’t know how you do it, skipping through all those different time zones all day long. It’s got to be hell on your body. I’ll let you get some sleep.”

I know I’m being dismissed. I also know that if I pushed the matter, I could have her bent over this table if I really wanted. But I can’t. Because it’s wrong. If I don’t have enough self-restraint to keep my hands to myself, then I should just pack up and leave right now. Poe didn’t think twice about agreeing to me staying with his sister, because he trusts me. He _trusts_ me. What type of man would I be if I betrayed that trust on my second night here?

I fake a yawn, which turns into a real one as I stretch my arms out over my head.

“You’re right. I am pretty beat. I’d forgotten the humidity in the South. It really takes it out of you when you spend hours outside. Do you want help cleaning up before I go to bed?”

She looks at me, a half relieved, half disappointed look on her face.

“Nope, I’ve got it all taken care of. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night then, Sting Ray.”

“Night.”

It takes more self-control than I ever thought possible to lock myself into her spare bedroom.

*****

Rey’s bedroom door shut for the last time over an hour ago, and I’m still staring up at the ceiling of her spare room. It’s so quiet out here, I can hear the bugs chirping outside.

I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep. I’m wound up too tight from the events of today. I mean, if I have to be stranded someplace other than Barbados, Sting Ray’s house is a great place to do it. I simply wasn’t expecting to have the reaction to her I did.

My hand creeps down my torso, and I use the heel of my palm against my aching cock, trying to give myself some relief without jacking off in her spare bed.

Because no matter how bad I need the relief, I can’t bring myself to defile her mattress like that. Even if it isn’t where she sleeps. Her parents could sleep here when they come to visit, and for the rest of my life I’ll know I came where they sleep, and I’ll never be able to look them in the eye again.

Making a spur of the moment decision, I hop out of the bed and drop to the floor, pounding out a round of pushups. When that doesn’t help, I switch it up to burpees.

Fifteen minutes later I’m hot, sweaty, and still have a major boner.

The shower it is, then.

Her bathroom is as rundown as the rest of the house, if immaculately clean. It’s as if, to make up for the peeling paint and the jagged tile, she’s taken her cleanliness to an almost obsessive-compulsive level.

There’s a new sunken bathtub still in the box in her biggest storage shed outside, and I make a plan to get that installed, no matter when I’m finally free of this place.

The water heater is new—I got a look at the box today in one of the sheds—and the water is scalding hot within minutes. I strip out of my boxers, letting my dick free at last, and moan when the steaming water hits my aching muscles.

I’m in great shape. But the muscle burn from the weight bench is not the same as the muscle soreness from hauling wood and using a hammer, and I’m already achy in ways I’m not accustomed to anymore. When I was a teenager, I worked on houses with my dad every summer and on school breaks. Those days are a long time gone, though.

I lean my forearm against the wall of the shower, letting the water hit my side and back. My head rests on my arm, and I spread my feet, making sure my stance is secure. Closing my eyes, pretending I’m not picturing what Rey’s plump ass would look like peeled out of those too tight yoga pants she was wearing today, I give my cock a squeeze.

The pressure immediately ebbs, until my balls pull tight to my body and my cock swells in my hand, the need for release surging through me.

I take up a fast rhythm, stroking my cock from base to tip, letting the water pour over my arm and back. I imagine what it would feel like to have Sting Ray’s hand wrapped around my dick. To have her ankles crossed behind my back as I plunge my cock in and out of her pussy.

Which is the only excuse I have for not hearing the door open and silently close behind her. When the shower curtain moves, the metal-on-metal sliding noise penetrating the fog of my lust, I jump so high, my feet leave the tub, landing again in a slipping, uncoordinated drop.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim, grabbing at the shower curtain rod to right myself. She’s naked, and _mother fucker_ my brain bleeps out as she lowers to her knees, the water beating against the back of her head. She gives herself a tiny shake, pushing her hair off her forehead, and she reaches for me, wrapping her hands around the length of my cock.

Her hands, her beautiful, petite hands, fit perfectly around my girth, and stacked pinky to thumb, cover my dick entirely. My hips thrust into her touch on instinct, my grip tightening on the curtain rod, as Rey leans forward and gives a few tentative licks against my head.

_Sweet Jesus._

Rey looks up at me through her eyelashes, the water darkening her hair until it’s sleek and straight down her back, and she moves a hand to cup my balls, gauging my reaction for how to proceed. I groan when she tugs on my sac, my hips jerking without my consent. With the hand still wrapped around my girth she strokes me, a downward motion with every snap of my hips.

“Ahh, you’re such a good girl,” I groan, and she nods her head in agreement.

She licks at my cock like it’s a fucking popsicle, then flattens her tongue against the underside of my dick and tastes me from base to tip. My eyes roll back in my head at the sensation, and I pulse in her hand, the need to cover her with my cum undeniable. Rey covers my cock with her mouth, pulling me deep and hollowing out her cheeks. My hand goes to the back of her head automatically, and I dig my fingers into her hair until she makes a choking noise against my dick.

“Sorry, sorry,” I pant, loosening my hold but not removing my hand.

I can feel my orgasm building at the base of my spine. My balls are tight against me, my cock swelled so round she can barely fit her mouth around me. I open my eyes and look at her, the sight of her lips spread and head bobbing against me, her arms working at my length, pushing me over the edge.

“I’m gonna come,” I spit out, but instead of stopping, she takes me deeper, and I touch the back of her throat as she swallows down my cum.

I’m trembling, unsure of how much longer my knees will support my weight, when, without saying a word, she gets up off her knees, pushes the shower curtain aside, and grabs a towel from the rack above the toilet, making her exit as quietly as she appeared.

What the fuck just happened?

**_ Chapter 4 _ **

**_ Rey _ **

I peek my head out of my bedroom, looking left and right before I leave my sanctuary.

He’s not here. _Thank you, God._

Sounds like he’s outside, if the faint thunk of a hammer is any indication, and a giant wave of relief surges through me. I have no idea what came over me last night. Don’t get me wrong, it was amazing. The power it gave me was heady and addicting. But climbing into his shower with him was not on my agenda.

I blame it fully on the phone call with Rose and the hidden six pack of 99-proof single shots in my bedside table.

I probably embarrassed the crap out of him, which is why he’s outside banging on my porch while the sun has barely risen. I pull down two glasses from the cupboard and take the blender glass out of the dishwasher.

I sucked Kylo’s dick last night. _Rose would be so proud._

A thrill of excitement, dangerous and naughty, zooms around my aura. I’m not a spur of the moment type of girl. Random blow jobs are definitely not my thing. Yet, when I heard the water turn on from my bedroom, and pictured his hand around his cock, the head leaking with his cum, I couldn’t think of anything else other than swallowing him down.

I’m humming to myself, replaying last night’s highlight reel and setting up my smoothie fixings, when I hear the front door slam. Then my highlight reel immediately morphs into a Sports Center compilation of worst plays in sports.

Okay. This is fine. I’ll pretend nothing happened, he’ll pretend nothing happened, and we’ll go along our merry way. Stuck in the house together for who knows how long.

Right.

I hear him making his way through the front room and turn my head to the side as he approaches the kitchen entryway. He’s shirtless. Of course, he is. Sweat coats his chest, his hair is a wavy mess, and that stupid pink irresistible toolbelt is wrapped low around his hips, teasing the hell out of me.

“So,” he says.

“Good morning!”

No, I don’t sound manic. I’m always this chipper and squeaky in the morning.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asks me, and my irritation immediately spikes. I shoot a look at him over my shoulder, continuing to fill my blender with fruit.

Guess we’re going to jump right in it then.

“I have sucked a dick before, Kylo,” I say to him, trying to keep the _duh_ tone out of my voice. I mean, I haven’t sucked that many, and certainly none as thick as his, but he doesn’t need to know that. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

I give up trying to ignore him, and turn to lean my ass against the counter, arms crossed over my chest.

“Yeah,” he scoffs, rubbing at the back of his neck, “Not noticing that you’re a twelve on the babe o’meter hasn’t been the problem. The _problem_ has been keeping from bending you over the back of that couch. Then, as soon as I convince myself that I can make it the next few weeks without tasting you, you sneak into my shower and drop to your knees.”

My stomach clenches in anticipation. His voice, already sultry, drops half an octave while he’s talking. I desperately want to pop my chewie in my mouth, but that would probably ruin whatever moment we have going on here.

“Then why haven’t you,” I ask, trying to keep my voice even. “Tasted me, I mean?”

He recoils as if I slapped him.

“Jeeze, Sting Ray, I don’t know. You mean besides the fact that you’re my best friend’s baby sister?”

“Yeah, besides that.”

He stutters and stammers, trying to articulate the supposed plethora of reasons why we can’t do this, but eventually his mouth closes without uttering a single word.

I can’t hide my smirk.

“If it makes you feel any better, who I’m fucking isn’t a topic of conversation Poe and I usually talk about.” So long as I don’t think about what I’m actually doing, flirting with this man is really fun.

He growls, deep in his chest, and advances on me, taking two steps into the kitchen before he seems to think better of it and freezes.

“How many men _are_ you fucking, Sting Ray?”

Is he—is he _jealous_? Or just bummed that he’s been left out of the party?

A woman with more experience than me would know how to handle this situation with finesse and flirtation. Since I don’t know how to do any of that, all I can offer is the truth.

“None, at the moment.” A thought occurs to me. “Although, I’m currently accepting applications.”

_Damn Rey, that was a nice one._ I do an internal happy dance at the way he rolls his eyes.

He takes in a shuddering breath, then advances again, until he’s pinned me against the counter with a hand on either side of my hips.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Only since I was sixteen and bought my first _personal massager_ from Spencer’s.

This is a slippery situation though. Sex with Kylo, fun as it sounds, feels a lot like riding a roller coaster. The build-up pulls your tummy into knots. The ride down makes you scream in pleasure, and afterwards, as you’re left trying to catch your breath, the ride the attendant pushes you out of the way to make room for the next rider. Is that something I can be okay with?

I look into his face, at the way he seems to undress me with his eyes, and decide that yes, yes, I can.

“This stays between us,” I whisper, embarrassed that my voice is so weak and needy. “What happens in quarantine, stays in quarantine. As soon as you’re back in the air, we’re going to forget this ever happened.”

He noses against my chin, tipping it up to expose my throat. One of the benefits of sleeping with a man whore is he knows exactly what buttons to push to make a woman go from zero to sixty in two point five seconds.

“And while I’m grounded?” He nuzzles against me. “I don’t do commitments Sting Ray.”

“Who’s asking for one?”

The thought of asking the King Sky Slut for a commitment is laughable.

“So, we’re agreed?”

“I’m already craving the taste of your cock again,” I pant honestly, and he groans against my skin, palming my face in his hands and kissing me like his life depends on it.

He plunges his tongue into my mouth, twining it with my own as he reaches his hands up my shirt to cup my breasts. His palms roam over my love handles, and I immediately go to move them away, until I hear him mumble something about loving the size of my hips.

I freeze mid-motion, my brain finally catching up with my hormones, but Kylo seems to have no such reservations. Taking my stillness as acquiescence, he tugs my shirt off and over my head, before diving in to kiss me again.

My body is screaming _yes, yes, yes_ , but my mind is going Danger Will Robinson, as it dawns on me, I’m already half naked in the middle of my kitchen.

He reaches his arms around my back, looking for my bra hooks I think, then pulls away to look at my chest with a confused expression on his face.

“Oh,” he says, determination on his face, “gotcha.”

He brings his hands around the front latch of my bra, taking a moment to figure out the clasp before freeing my breasts from their confines.

I’m still stuck on the _oh_.

“What do you mean _oh_? Has the sex God of the skies never seen a front clasping bra before?”

He cups my breasts in his hands, hefting their weigh and rubbing his thumbs over my nipples. It forces me to close my eyes momentarily, as the sensations overload my brain.

I push through the fog, though, to get back to my point.

“Maybe I should keep my clothes on for this,” I say, hesitation overpowering my lust. “The fact that you’ve obviously never had to open an unpadded front clasp tells me I’m not really what you’re looking for.”

“Change your mind, Sting Ray?” Kylo asks, not letting go of my breasts. He latches onto my earlobe and sucks, and my brain fizzles out for a minute.

“Not exactly,” I say, trying to focus my thoughts. “It’s just that, in this situation, you’re used to driving a race car, and I’m more a Volkswagen bug.”

He laughs at me, right in my face, before squeezing a breast and sucking it into his mouth. It catches me so off guard I moan out loud, digging my fingers into his fantastic head of hair.

“Sting Ray, you’re every bit the racecar your name suggests. Have you ever seen an original Rey Sting Ray? She was all long lines and sharp edges. The headlights couldn’t even be seen until you turned the car on. I’ve thought of little else except getting your tits into my mouth since the minute you pulled into the driveway.”

Umm, he seems to think his explanation was satisfactory, because he’s unbuckling the toolbelt from his waist, letting it drop haphazardly to the floor, and yanking at his belt. I don’t bother to help. He seems to have, _whatever_ he’s got going on, well in hand. I stand there dumbfounded, ass still against the counter, trying to get a grasp on what he just said to me. Was that supposed to be a compliment?

He obviously thinks so.

_I’m_ thinking he called me a twig and wrapped it in a bow. I’m not anorexic. I wear a medium in clothing. Sometimes. And sure, Victoria’s secret is that she doesn’t make bras designed for a chest like mine. But I’m not sure that warrants him saying I have tiny headlights.

Kylo yanks at his laces and his shoes go flying through the air, one by one. In between each toss, he leans into my personal space and licks or tastes me, before pulling back and resuming the attack on his clothing.

I mean, he’s obviously interested right? He wouldn’t be stripping in my kitchen if he wasn’t.

“Rey,” he snaps, and I jerk my attention back to him to realize while I was busy freaking out, he’s rid himself of all his clothing.

He grabs the base of his cock, stepping forward and taking my hand, wrapping it around his length. He’s hard as galvanized steel, and I slowly stroke him up and down automatically.

“Get out of your head. Do you feel how hard I am? For you? I’m going to bend you over that counter”—he points to the surface I’m still leaning against—“and fuck you until you scream so loud the neighbors call for help. Is that alright with you?”

He sounds cocky, amused, and maybe slightly exasperated that I’m still just standing here staring at him. This time, though, it’s because of how gorgeous _his_ body is, instead of worrying about what he sees when he looks at mine. Every ab is cut and raised. His perfect v is almost harsher than I like in a man. His pubic hair is perfectly trim. Because, of course, Mr. _I’m so perfect it’s painful_ also takes the time to manscape.

“Umm, yeah. That sounds like a good plan to me.” I’ve given up any hope of sounding like an articulate human being. He’s lucky I’m speaking in more than grunts and sign language by this point. I feel a little like I’ve got whip lash with how quickly my life has changed the last few days.

I’m still slowly fondling his dick.

“Good.”

He steps closer, palming my breasts again, and resumes his interrupted assault on my mouth. When I’m a panting gasping mess, he lowers his mouth to my breasts, licking each nipple with the flat of his tongue before sucking as much of my breast into his mouth as will fit. Which is basically all of it.

“Your tits are fucking perfect, Sting Ray. Perfect. God. See the way they fit into my hands? I’m going to lay you flat on your bed and fuck your tits until I come all over them.”

Not hearing anything to complain about so far.

Kylo falls to his knees in front of me, grabbing my leggings and pulling them down my legs. I squeeze my eyes closed, panicking, _again_ , because while he’s as trim downstairs as a bonsai plant, my lady parts haven’t seen a razor in months. 

But _bless him_ , because he doesn’t seem to care when he lifts one of my feet clean free of the fabric and spreads my legs wide before shoving his face into my crotch.

My brain explodes, if only from the unexpectedness of it. As soon as he starts he stops though, using his fingers to spread my wetness into all my crevices.

“I want you up against this counter, legs spread and ass out, by the time I get back. You have fifteen seconds. Go.”

Just like that he’s gone, and I’m left standing like an idiot in my kitchen, my pants and panties still covering one calf, bunched around my left knee.

“Eight. Seven. Six.”

He comes back into view, ripping a condom wrapper with his teeth and rolling it down his cock.

“Five. Four.”

Jesus. Okay.

I flip around on the counter, so the edge is against my belly instead of my back. As soon as I do, Kylo is on me, and, without warning, shoving two fingers into my pussy.

“Holy shit,” I pant, wholly unprepared for what sex with this man really means.

“God, you’re so wet,” he growls against my ear, sucking at my neck and reaching the other hand to pull on my nipples. He’s right, I am. I’m getting wetter by the second. I feel it pooling in my center, coating his fingers in my stickiness. I’m not quite sure how that happened, as I haven’t played much of a participant in the last few minutes. But I’m suddenly so ready for him, I’m almost trembling in anticipation.

He works his fingers in and out of me, scissoring the digits and rubbing against my internal walls. It feels fantastic, there’s no doubt about it. But it only leaves me wanting more.

“Later, after I’ve had you once, I’m going to take my time with this pussy. Really show it the devotion it deserves. But I can see it in your eyes, you’re a heartbeat from locking yourself into the bathroom until they lift the pandemic restrictions, and I _need_ to show you why that would be a horrible idea.”

He’s wrong. Maybe I was going to bolt ten minutes ago. Now though? Now I’m ready to try the king sky slut on for size. No one has ever talked to me like this while we were having sex. No one has ever talked to me like this period. I like it. A lot.

He removes his hand from between my legs, only to replace it with his cock. He’s gentle and teasing, rubbing the tip between my folds, using my lubricant to slick up the already slippery condom.

When he breaches my entrance, my muscles clench down around him, and he slows to stop no more than halfway inside.

“Keep going,” I order, pushing back against him. Needing no more encouragement, he shoves the rest of the way inside, ripping a gasp from my lips.

“Alright?”

He’s pulling back out already, his hands digging into my hips.

“Uh-huh,” I pant, not sure I can use my words. It’s been over a year since I’ve had sex, and that loser was nowhere near built like Kylo is. Just like the ’65 Sting Ray I was named after, this is going to be rough and fast. “Go,” I beg.

He does.

His hips snap against my ass, and the last rational thought I have before my mind blanks around me is that the countertop is going to bruise my belly.

_**Chapter 5** _

_**Kylo** _

_There is a God. There is a God. There is a God._

I always knew there had to be. I’m not religious. I never go to church. But spending most of my time up in the air, I always knew that somewhere above me, there was a higher power.

Being balls deep inside of Rey? Fulfilling a long held secret desire to fuck in a kitchen, while my balls are smacking against her ass, just proves it to me once and for all.

My orgasm is building at the base of my spine, my muscles pulled tight in my gut, and I reach my hand around to find her clit, hoping to push her over the edge.

As soon as she starts to whimper, I let myself go, filling the condom with my cum. I wish I was pouring into her instead. Then, I could watch it drip from her cunt before pushing it back inside with my fingers.

Her whimpering stops as soon as I start to orgasm, and it something feels off as she gasps for breath against the countertop. She’s practically bent in half, her cheek resting on toaster oven.

“You didn’t finish,” I say, and she shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. It’s me, not you. That was freaking awesome Kylo.”

It was. It was freaking out of this world. At least until I came, and she didn’t. I pull my softening cock from her cunt, removing the condom and tying it off before throwing it into the trash. Then I help her unbend from around the counter. Her back cracks audibly as she straightens with a wince.

Great. _Not only didn’t she come, but you hurt her in the process, asshole. You’re really hitting it out of the park here._

She turns around and smiles at me, sweat coating her body. I can’t resist running my tongue along her jutting collar bone, licking up some of the moisture. But I can’t let it go. It’s not in my nature.

“You have to come, Sting Ray. Why don’t I drop you on that counter, and I’ll lick that sweet pussy of yours.”

She blushes the most adorable shade of pink, like I wasn’t fucking her for all that I’m worth not three minutes ago, and shakes her head no.

“That’s okay. I’m good. I promise. Honestly. I...” She hesitates for a moment, looking anywhere but at me. “I never finish, like that, when I have sex. Like I said, it’s not you. It’s me.”

I stare at her dumbfounded for a minute, unable to understand her words. I’ve heard that women have trouble sometimes coming from vaginal penetration. But it’s not a problem that I’ve ever had to deal with. _Not that you’re aware of, at least_ , taunts an inner voice.

My chest puffs out a little, my personal manhood on the line now.

“No. That’s not the way this works. If you don’t orgasm when you have sex with a man, it’s always the man’s fault. Always. Now it’s a matter of honor. On your bed. Now.” I point toward her bedroom.

Rey cringes, her face squishing up until her beautiful features resemble a baby who smelled something foul. “See. It is me. It’s not just sex. I’ve never... _finished_ ”—I can’t help but smile at the way she can’t seem to bring herself to say orgasm—“with another person. At all. I’ve had a guy go down on me once or twice, and after a while I just had to fake it, since it became pretty obvious that it was taking longer than they wanted to spend. Seriously. What we just did? That was like the best I’ve ever had. Hands down. Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

_Really appreciate it?_

Her arms are covering her chest, protecting herself from my censure, I’m sure. She’s fidgeting on her feet, and I flush in embarrassment as I take in her pants still around her fucking ankle.

She leapt so far out of her comfort zone for me that she probably can’t even see its outline anymore, and I treated her like shit, debasing her in her own fucking kitchen. God I’m an asshole. _Well, that’s that then._ Without giving her a chance to fight me, I grab one arm, pulling it around my shoulder.

“Kylo? What are you—” Her question turns into a squeal as I bend my knees, tuck my arm into her hips, and toss her over my shoulder.

I carry her with ease, giving her bare ass a smack and taking a second to pull her pants the rest of the way off.

“Kylo, your back!” she exclaims, as I carry her into her room and drop her unceremoniously on her bed.

“What about it?” I ask, then say, “Move to the head of the bed and spread your legs. I’m going to eat that pussy for hours.”

“You have a fucking tattoo!” she says loudly, like she’s informing me of this intelligence for the first time.

“I know. I was there when I got it. Like it? It’s pretty cool, huh?”

“Turn around,” she orders, and I turn on the spot, giving her a clear view of the ink on my back.

They are pretty cool, I have to admit. Wings, starting at my spine and filling each shoulder blade to the tip of my arm, and dropping as low as the curve of my ass. The bottoms taper out until a single feather reaches into the band of my pants.

When I’m wearing them at least. I’m honestly surprised she’s just now noticing them. Though, in her defense, I’m not sure she’s seen me from behind without a shirt on.

She’s gaping at me, using her hands on my back to keep me still.

“How did I not see that in the shower?” she asks, shock and wonder lacing her voice.

“Don’t know,” I tell her, grinning ear to ear. “Maybe because your eyes were on other, more important things. Like my dick in your mouth.”

I’m nowhere near done with her, and I take myself in hand as her little fingers run up my sides.

“I mean,” she breathes, genuine awe in her voice, “you look so clean cut from the front, then from the back you’re like some sort of sinfully delicious fallen angel.”

I chuckle at her description, trying to get a peek at her from over my shoulder.

“I watch a lot of Lucifer,” she says unprompted, offering an excuse for her Biblical analogy. She’s not far off base. They were copied from a picture of angel wings.

All of my lovers have seen the tattoos, of course. None have made this big of a deal out of them, though. I like it. I flex my back, knowing how they move with my skin. It almost looks like I’m really ruffling my feathers.

“Like it, huh?” I ask, knowing I’m preening a little under all the attention.

“They’re awesome,” she says, still running her hands up and down my back.

Well, this was fun, but my flagging dick reminds me that I had other things on my mind when I flung her over my shoulder. I turn back around, climbing onto the bed on my knees.

“Spread ‘em, Sting Ray. I’m hungry. You’re lunch.”

She hesitates, _again_ , and I growl in frustration. What is it with this girl? Most women beg me to eat them out, and this one I have to convince like I’m offering her a flu shot without the sucker.

“Look. I’ll make you a deal. If I can’t have you squirming against my face and coming around my tongue in less than thirty minutes, I’ll leave you alone and never mention it again. But, if I do, you let me fuck you, however I want, for the rest of the weekend.”

“What do I get if you can’t?” she asks, but moves where I told her to, leaning back against the cushions piled against the headboard.

“Well them, I’ll fix that dilapidated porch for you.”

“You’re already doing that,” she says, as I lower myself to my belly between her legs, examining the folds of her clit. Getting the lay of the land, so to speak.

“You’re already doing that,” she whimpers, anticipation pulling her voice tight.

“Then I guess this is a win-win situation for you.”

I watch her through my eyelashes as I place little kisses on the inside of her thigh, then take a last look at the clock on her bedside table.

She comes in less than fifteen.

_**Chapter 6** _

_**Rey** _

I made a special run to the grocery store this morning, before Kylo even woke up, and dinner’s been marinating in the fridge for a good nine hours now. 

Kylo mentioned last night that he’s been craving fried chicken, so I’m making my grandmother’s recipe, soaked in buttermilk, doubled coated, and fried in her fifty-year old cast iron dutch oven. I have a side of collard greens, fresh mashed potatoes, gravy, sun brewed sweet tea fresh from my new porch, and apple pie, hot from the oven.

He may be loud and all up in my space, but it’s nice to have another mouth to feed. And boy can he eat. I’m not sure where he puts it all.

Kylo finished the front porch a few days ago and decided to stick to the outside of the house for his _Mr. Fix-it_ list, since I’m still working during the day. He’s been outside for the last few hours, taking the power washer to my house’s siding, and I was hoping to have food ready before he came in for the night.

Alas, he smacked my ass five minutes ago before heading into the shower to wash off the day’s sweat. I guess he gets to help me cook instead. Or watch, like he has every other night this week. When I told him that he should cook _me_ dinner the other night, he asked me where the local delivery joint was.

Typical man.

In the week he’s been here, his skin has already taken on a deeper tone from all his time outside, and he’s made a run to a men’s department store to buy a cheap pair of steel toed boots. As you can imagine, he didn’t have a lot of clothes packed into that rolling suitcase of his, but he says he doesn’t need to buy any clothes and I’ve taken his word for it.

He spends most of his time shirtless anyway.

Youtube is blasting from the big screen in the living room, and I dance little steps in my kitchen to the country song that blares through my surround sound.

“Country, really?” comes from behind me, and I jump in place, dropping my paper bag of seasoning to the counter and bringing my hands to my chest. The music is loud, and we almost have to yell to be heard over top of it. I suppose it’s not his fault I didn’t hear him sneak up on me.

“You asshole,” I gasp, and he grins in response. I wait until my heartbeat get back under control before I answer him. “Yes, country. I live in the South! If you were here during any regular time, I’d take you line dancing. It’s one of the few things I enjoy doing in the company of others.”

He’s wearing a pair of blue joggers, tight enough that I can see the outline of his thighs, and his dick against the front. His hair is slicked back but messy. He probably combed it, then ran his fingers through it, messing it all up again.

I peeked into his suitcase where it’s sitting on the bed of the spare room. A bed he hasn’t slept in except for those first two nights. He has a shit ton of styling products for a dude. I haven’t seen him use a drop of it, though, since he’s been in my house. I’m not sure whether to be flattered he’s comfortable enough to not have to primp and preen or insulted that I’m not important enough for him to give it his all. Since I remember how put together he looked when he showed up on my doorstep, I’m choosing to think its option number one.

The look he gives me is dripping with skepticism.

“Line dancing? You? No offense Sting Ray, but you don’t exactly scream the type. You know I haven’t seen you in a pair of jeans since I’ve been here? Or anything other than flip flops.” At the offense building on my face, he holds his hands up in front of him, then grasps me by the hips, giving me a hard squeeze. “Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m certainly not complaining. If anything, I’m planning on buying stock in whatever brand of yoga pants that is that makes your ass look that edible, but still, nothing I’ve seen yet points to you in a country bar yucking it up with the other hicks.”

I take his face in my hand, squeezing his cheeks until he’s mumbling “ _ow, ow, ow_ ” between squished lips, then shoving his face away hard.

“Shows what you know, know-it-all. Just for that, challenge accepted.”

He gives me a bemused look, running his fingers over his abused face, as I turn off the gas on the burners and leave him standing in the kitchen.

I go into my bedroom, pull a pair of boot socks out of my drawer, and sit on the bed to yank them over my feet and calves, settling the material on my knees. Yes, I am wearing yoga pants. Grey ones today, but the socks stay up better because of it, gripping the material instead of immediately sliding down the meat of my lower thigh. I’ve got a spaghetti strap on, tighter than I’d ever wear in public with yoga pants. But, I figure, Kylo’s in my house, physically sleeping in _my_ bed. Looking at me in unflattering clothing is just the price he’s going to have to pay.

I drop to my knees, pull my purple cowgirl boots out from under my bed, then pull them on one at a time from my place on the floor before climbing to all fours and pushing up from the carpet.

Kylo’s been watching me from the doorway with an amused smile on his face but hurries out of my way as I make my way into the living room, picking up the remote. I get the song queued I want, then pause, looking at the space in the room.

Without giving it another thought, I shove my couch forward three feet, giving me plenty of space in the walkway between the living room and the dining.

Then I hit play.

I haven’t done this in a while, and I have to watch the screen the first couple of beats as Gretchen Wilson’s “Fake ID” spins from the speaker system and the choreography from the _Footloose_ remake dances across my screen. By the time the second verse starts, though, my back is toward the living room and I’m shaking my hips exaggeratedly at Kylo, who’s watching me with the broadest smile I’ve ever seen on him.

My heels dig into my flooring, giving me purchase as I turn in a circle, yelling the counts out loud.

“1 2 3 4—1 2 3 4.”

I clap in time with the other dancers, my hands on my pelvis in lieu of the belt buckles I’m not wearing. It’s faster than I remember, and I’m horribly out of shape, but that doesn’t stop me from shouting out my _whoo_ at just the right time to blend in with Greta banging on her tambourine.

“Shake it, baby,” he yells at me over the blaring of the music, clapping along and howling at the sight I must make.

I’m huffing by the time the song ends three minutes later, and I forget all about Youtube’s auto play function, until Footloose itself starts blasting from my speakers.

Then, to my ever-loving surprise, Kylo jumps into the fray, spinning me into him before swinging me back out.

Dinner sits forgotten on the stove as my living room is turned into a dance hall.

  
  


_**Chapter 7** _

_**Kylo** _

“I’m bored.”

I throw myself into the chair next to the coffee table, then immediately push back out of it, too antsy to sit still for long. I feel like I’m crawling the walls. I need to get out and do something. Anything, at this point.

The last two weeks have been fun, but I’m starting to lose my mind. There’s only so much home repair a man can take without the relief of a bar and a barmaid at the end of the day.

Rey is sitting on the couch with her legs tucked up underneath her. She’s got an afghan on her lap, a glass of wine on the table, and is scrolling through the menu on Netflix. She barely even glances at me before continuing with her search.

“God, Kylo. You’re worse than a five-year old boy. I promised to house you, but I made no such assurances about keeping you entertained.”

“And you’re like an eighty-year old woman,” I snap back, “who’s most exciting prospect is her weekly bingo game.”

I throw my hands up in exasperation, and she giggles at me, but still doesn’t stop her clicking on the remote.

“Guilty as charged,” she agrees, still not making any effort to get up from the couch.

“I know something we could do,” I suggest, waggling my eyebrows at her and tugging on my belt.

“Nope,” she says, popping her _p_ with her lips.

“Why not?” I pout, dropping onto my knees next to her on her couch. She cringes at the impact, an arm tightening at her stomach. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Kylo. Just peachy. I don’t want to have sex.” Her voice is flat and irritated, and she’s now actively refusing to make eye contact with me.

“That’s fine. You can suck my cock, if you want. Help with that oral fixation of yours.”

I grin devilishly at her, and despite the battle for dominance going on over her expression, her smile wins, and she smirks with a teeny giggle.

But then she kills me with a stab to the heart. Or to the dick.

“No.”

_If at first, you don’t succeed…_

“I could eat you out. I mean, I’ve gotten really good at it, if I do say so myself. Or, we could sixty-nine. We haven’t tried that yet. Yes!” I beg, inspiration flowing into my rapidly hardening dick, “Please let’s sixty-nine. That could keep me entertained for hours.”

Her nose squishes up, a look of disgust coating her features. She flings the blanket off of her lap, and I think she’s going to storm off in a huff, until I notice the heating pad pushed up against her belly.

“Look okay. I’m on my period. I’m sorry—it’s gross. Whatever. Go bother somebody else.”

“Your period,” I repeat, as if I’m somehow new to the concept.

“Yes, Kylo. My period. My monthly cycle. My moon course. That time of the month. The visit from Aunt flow. Code red. Since God, in the most perverse move of patriarchal bullshit ever invented, decided that women were only good for growing tiny humans, every month we _don’t_ grow a tiny human, we get to purge three weeks of preparation and start again fresh.”

I unconsciously start backing away as her rant grows more impassioned, hoping to put some space between us before her head starts spinning on her neck. It is, apparently, the wrong thing to do.

“All I want to do, _Kylo,_ ” she growls, and never before has my name sounded like such a curse, “is curl up on the couch, drink my bottle of wine, and watch Darcy make a fool out of himself trying to propose to Elizabeth. Is that alright with you? Mr. _I never learned how to sit still for longer than thirty seconds at a time_?”

Wow. Cod red indeed. I’m at a loss for words. It’s like a fighter jet just swooped down from the clouds, shooting me out of the sky before he ever showed up the on radar. Sirens are wailing in my mind. Red flashing alarm bells, screeching _Warning_ , _warning,_ as if the bomb hadn’t already exploded.

“Sorry,” she says, petulance in her tone. “I don’t feel well today.”

Obviously.

I’m utterly stymied, none of the hundred responses running through my brain seeming appropriate to the situation. I’ll either come out looking like I’m horrified by her biology, or condescending, as if I’m patronizing her. Either way, this ends with my body buried in her backyard and a phone call to Poe telling him I just disappeared one day, and she has no idea what happened.

Making a decision, I rise carefully from the couch and walk into the kitchen. I pull the container of Ben and Jerry’s Brownie Batter ice cream from its hiding spot behind the frozen fruit. I grab her bottle of tequila from the top of the fridge, finding a shot glass in a drawer and popping it on top of the bottle. Two spoons go into my pockets, and two water bottles in my hand, as I juggle my load back into the living room.

She’s found what she wanted to watch and has pulled the blanket back over her lap. Now that I know it’s there, the cable leading from the couch into the extension cord in the wall is obvious.

Without a word, I place the ice cream in her hands, as carefully as I would a newborn baby. She smirks when I hand her the spoon, discreetly wiping a tear from her cheek. She lifts the edge of the blanket, silently offering me the place at her side, and I take it with pleasure, careful as I lower my bulk to the misshapen cushions.

“ _Pride and Prejudice_ , huh?” I ask, licking the top of the lid she hands me.

“It’s my favorite,” she replies, using the afghan to protect her fingers from the chill of the ice cream. We’re silent for a moment as the ladies of the house run amok on the screen. “We could make it into a drinking game,” she suggests, and I hear the apology deep in her voice.

I pick the remote up from her lap, freezing the action on the screen.

“I’m intrigued. Go on.”

“It depends on how trashed you want to get,” she says conspiratorially, popping that stupid rubber thing into her mouth.

“Well, let’s see. I’m grounded, under house arrest, and it’s only three p.m. on a Saturday. I think, so long as I don’t end up dead or in jail, there’s really no limit here.”

Her grin is wide and playful, the explosion of twenty minutes ago already forgotten between us.

“Then we’ll play the long version.” She hands me her phone, and I read off the Pinterest post of how often we’re supposed to take a shot. This is not the first time I’ve been forced to sit through _Pride and Prejudice_ , thanks Mom, and my eyebrows hit my hairline by the time I’m done scanning the picture.

_Drink When—_

_Lizzy picks a fight with Darcy_

_Darcy stares at Lizzy_

_You want to hit Wickham_

_You want to hit Lydia_

_Jane says something nice_

_Mary and Lydia are annoying_

_Mrs. Bennett talks about money OR complains about their lack thereof_

_Mr. Collins mentions Lady Catherine_

_Whenever there is dancing_

“That is a _lot_ of drinking,” I say, handing her back her phone and digging my spoon into the softening ice cream.

“Then I suggest we start out slow.

*****

She’s holding her second bottle of wine in her lap, her hands wrapped around the neck and her chin resting on top of it. We long ago gave up our glasses, forgoing the whole _starting out slow_ scenario and jumping straight into getting shit-faced drunk.

The tequila bottle is missing most of its liquid and is resting on my leg. My grip is loose against the neck of the bottle, but whereas Rey is staring at the screen, tears silently dripping down her cheeks, my eyes can take in nothing but her.

“God, she’s beautiful,” I think. “She’s so different, and that makes her perfect.” Then jerk from my reverie when she replies to my supposed internal dialogue.

“I know,” she sighs, staring wistfully at the screen. “This is my favorite part. The way he appears out of the fog, his shirt open, his coat billowing behind him. She looks so beautiful. Natural and pure. She doesn’t care that she’s not as posh as everyone else in his life, and he loves her all the more for it. She’s everything Darcy needs in his over-processed world.”

_Is she—is she reading my mind?_ I look around the room, as if the answers will magically appear. And then they do, when my blurry gaze finally focuses on the screen.

Rey is talking about the movie.

Elizabeth is confessing to her father, while Darcy paces like a moron in the backyard with the chickens.

“What? No! This is such total bullshit. _Ardently admire you?_ This whole movie could have been prevented if he simply pinned her against one of the pillars and shoved his tongue down her throat. Darcy’s a pussy, man. And if Elizabeth wasn’t such a bitch, he’d have had the stones to bend her over.”

I take another swig from the tequila bottle, long past acknowledging the burn at the back of my throat.

She faces me slowly, and it takes me much longer than it should to realize I’m in danger of my life again.

“What. The fuck. Did you just say? Darcy is a pussy? Darcy is the man that _every_ man should aspire to be. His well of passion runs so deep, it knows _no_ bounds. He _worships_ Elizabeth to her very core! Elizabeth is a little feisty, sure, but that only makes him love her more. Where’s my—” And she lifts her arms up shakily and looks around, haphazardly jumbling us on the couch. “Where’s my spoon? I’m going to carve your heart out with my spoon. Then eat it in front of you, so you know what true love feels like.”

She’s crying again, though I’m not sure that she realizes it. I don’t know if it’s from the hormones, the alcohol, the movie, or a warped combination of all of the above, and I’m certainly not in the frame of mind to figure it out.

“True love? No. If you want to watch a movie about true love, let’s watch _Pirates of the Caribbean._ They kill for each other. They die for each other. They come back to life for each other. She becomes the _Pirate King_ for God’s sake. There is your love story!”

I’m gesticulating wildly, and the only thing keeping the liquor from splashing all over us is the fact that most of it is gone. I watch as she raises her own bottle to her lips, and swallows back the last few drops, before letting the empty container clatter to the floor.

“You know that’s the same actress, right?” she asks, and it takes me a moment to follow her train of thought. It’s so fucking hot in this house, and I stand to strip off my pants, my shirt long abandoned behind the back of the couch.

The next time Sting Ray and I quarantine together, we’re doing it someplace tropical, with a mild temperature all year round. Like Ecuador, or Hawaii. Or maybe the Canary Islands. She’d look amazing in a string bikini, those tits of hers bursting out of the too small triangles that would have no business trying to keep her contained.

“Huh,” I muse, distracted as she takes off her own shirt, but sadly leaves her bra on. I’ve become obsessed with her bras. They almost all fasten in front. They’re lacy, super thin, and I can she her nipples straight through the fabric. It’s fantastic.

“Keira Knightly,” she bubbles, all threats of eating my heart forgotten. “She’s the same girl from Pirates! I have the whole set on digital. You get the rum while I change my tampon, and we’ll start on Pirates 1!”

I watch as she skitters to the bathroom, leaning on the wall for support. God, she’s so weird. Why is that so sexy?

With a hand on the back of the couch for support, I leap over it to the other side. Promptly landing in a heap on the floor, because I’m so drunk, I’ve reached the _thinks he’s superman but is actually the dude from Megamind_ stage of inebriation.

I’m still sitting there, leaning against the back of her couch, laughing hysterically and rubbing at my ankle, when she emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later.

“Maybe we should skip the rum,” she mumbles, looking a little green around the gills, and somehow, that just sets me off even more.

_**Chapter 8** _

_**Rey** _

My computer desk is against the front wall of the house, directly in front of the spare room’s door. However, because of the way the sunlight hits the monitor I have it angled in a direction that means I can’t immediately see when anyone approaches the room.

Which, under normal circumstances, doesn’t matter. At all. Because I live by myself. What it means under present circumstances, though, is that I have no idea how long Kylo has been leaning against the door frame listening to me sing along with the Beatles before I finally noticed his presence. It could have been seconds or half an hour.

I jump in my seat, scared witless by the sight of the shirtless man in my home. Though he’s been here long enough now you’d think I’d have gotten used to him. I have. Mainly. It’s only that Kylo is so...Kylo, for lack of a better word, that sometimes he catches me off guard, even when I’m expecting him.

“I didn’t know you were a Beatles girl,” he remarks as I pull my earbuds from my ears.

“Isn’t everyone?” I sass back at him.

He’s shirtless, as usual, but on top of his jeans he’s wearing an open cardigan sweater. I’d like to say it’s a horrible look on him. I’d be lying though. He’s lost some of the clean-cut edge surrounding him when he first showed up on my doorstep. His hair isn’t as neat, his stubble untrimmed. Like an animal in a zoo becoming accustomed to its new habitat.

I turn my swirly chair to face him, untwisting my legs from my lap. He’s grinning at me, and it’s a smile that turns my insides to jelly. I don’t trust it at all.

“I was going through your stuff,” he starts, and I interrupt him with a hand up before he can continue.

“What? Going through my stuff? How come? That’s a little rude, don’t you think?”

If anything, his smile only gets wider. I try to look put out, but I just can’t muster the irritation to do so.

“Yes. Snooping. Prying. Being a busy body. I’m bored, it’s raining, and I’m tired of watching TV. So, I went through your stuff. And I have to say, I wasn’t that impressed. If I was expecting love letters from foreign princes or spy paraphernalia that explodes on contact, I was sorely disappointed. What I did find that piqued my considerable interest, however, was this.” From behind his back, which suddenly makes his weird half leaning pose so obvious, he pulls out my well used wand massager.

“This,” he says, with a gleam in his eye and a taunt in his voice, “is an awfully big machine for such a little girl. Whatever do you do with it?”

I can’t stop the blush rising up my cheeks. “I’m not that little, as you well know,” I retort, running my hands up and down my thighs. I’m wearing an old sunflower sundress, so worn it’s thin in places, and barely covers my privates when I sit. I really should put more effort into my appearance while he’s here, but he doesn’t seem to mind that my mascara is so old it’s probably turned to clay by now.

“Don’t I know it,” he smirks at me, licking his lips and taking me in. “Can you explain to me why it looks the way it does?”

I blush even further, sure that I’m the color of a radish by now, as he waves the wand massager/vibrator side to side in front of him. There’s nothing special about it. It isn’t even battery operated. But the tip of it is covered with a thick fuzzy sock.

“Umm,” I delay, trying to gather my wits about me. “I don’t like the way the rubber feels against my body, and the metal itself heats up if I use it for too long. I put a sock over the top to help with the sensations.”

“Hmmm,” he hums, as if I’ve just told him the most interesting fact in the world. “I was wondering,” he elaborates, taking a step further into the room, “if you’d be willing to give me a demonstration?”

My mouth dries like the Sahara Desert, then floods with moisture, while between my legs does the same. I fight the urge to flex my hips, my internal muscles already spasming for what he can give me.

“Demonstration?” I parrot like a moron, trying, and failing, to think of something sultry to say.

“Well, yes. I want to see how you make yourself come.”

My heart speeds up in my chest, and I feel like I’m panting from the intimacy of his statement. Why is it I’ve had sex with this man in every room of my house by now, but the thought of him watching me alone makes me tremble? And not necessarily in a good way.

I know what Rose would say. Do it. Now. But do I have the courage?

“I’m not sure if I can,” I say honestly. “It’s...embarrassing.”

“Why,” he asks, genuine confusion in his face.

“Because it’s private. I told you I’d never come with another person. I still haven’t come from penetration alone, not that you haven’t given it your all. The way I—” I have to close my eyes to finish my thought, the sight of him closing in on me stealing my courage as quickly as it appears. “The way I use _that_ , isn’t how I imagine it’s supposed to be used. I wouldn’t want you to think—” I huff out an exasperated breath through my nose then continue, “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m weird or anything.”

I feel his hand cup my face, his thumb running along the length of my cheekbone. I pulled my hair up this morning, in a tail instead of a topknot, and his fingers dig into the bone and skin at the back of my head.

“There is no world in this universe where watching you play with yourself could make me think of you as weird. Now I’m even more desperate to watch you as you come. Come on Sting Ray, show me how a master does it.”

I open my eyes to see the desire plain on his face. Flicking my gaze to my computer and deciding it’s late enough in the day for me to log off, I nod silently, then start the process of shutting down my workday. He watches me without saying a word, the cord of the vibrator dangling to the floor, then leads me out of my office and into my bedroom.

I slip my panties down my legs, but when I go to lift the hem of my dress, he stops me with his hands on mine.

“Leave the dress on, if you don’t mind.”

He voice is deep and gravelly, the hint of his heritage slipping through. As if my voice has left me completely, I only nod in agreement, but then slip my arms out of the straps so the top droops to show my bra. Without a second’s hesitation, I pull the front clasp together then apart, letting my bra fall to the floor to bare my breasts. Kylo rewards my brashness with a guttural groan but doesn’t reach to touch them.

Instead, he goes to the corner where my long-neglected chair sits, moving the stacks of books to the floor and lowering himself into the cushion, spreading his legs wide. I see his dick straining against his pants, but he makes no move to free himself of his confines.

Deciding I need a little courage, I pull a single shot 99 Bananas out of my top drawer and chug it back, shuddering as it hits my gullet, then quickly chasing it with the water still on my bedside table. As the tingle hits my blood stream, I pick up the vibrator he’d set gently on my bed and plug it back into the extension cord that rests in between the cracks of my bedframe.

I try to pretend Kylo isn’t there. This is just a regular day. I’m tired and bored. Stressed from dealing with idiots who know a fraction of what I do but think they know twice as much. I want to fall asleep reading but know that whatever smut I pick up to read tonight will only make me horny unless I take care of my urges now.

I take my body pillow and lay it on top of the blankets, and get my vibrator situated on top of it. On a spur of the moment decision, I take a regular pillow and put it under my body pillow, elevating the middle. I hike the front of my skirt up so I can angle the vibrator onto my clit, then lower my body until I’m prone across the pillows and turn the vibrator on.

I gasp as the oscillations begin their assault on my body, and that gasp is echoed from the man behind me.

Deciding I might as well go for broke, I grab my phone from my bed and pull up my favorite smut reading. I took a female sexuality class in college, and the teacher once said that men need very little to bring themselves to orgasm, most of it visual. Hence porn. They’ve found naked figurines meant to stimulate men to orgasm from as far back as thirty thousand years ago.

A woman, however, needs mental _and_ physical stimulus to bring herself to fruition. It’s why, while men have porn, women have been sneaking erotica for just as long.

The noise of the vibrator, not something I usually notice, seems to echo in the stillness of my room, and I look around for some way to muffle it. I grab a handful of blankets, scrunching them up and shoving them against the body of the wand.

“Don’t,” Kylo barks, and I look over my shoulder to see him gripping himself through the fabric of his pants. He’s lost his sweater but hasn’t gone any farther than that. “I want to hear it.”

The fact that I’m putting on a show for him is forefront in my mind. With the extra pillow, my hips are elevated and I pull my knees up and apart, as much as my position will allow me at least, spreading myself wide for his viewing pleasure. I rotate my hips in a circle, moving the head of the vibrator around my clit, letting the warmth soak into my pussy lips.

My embarrassment has fled to be replaced with a determination to impress him. Maybe? I don’t know. What I do know is that a brazenness I’ve never felt before is coursing through my body. My phone slips from my fingers, my mind needing no other stimulation besides the knowledge that Kylo is sitting five feet behind me.

It’s building quickly, my muscles tightening, my stomach clenching, when the bed bows with Kylo’s weight climbing up behind me.

“Shh,” he soothes, like he’s gentling a horse, as his hands smooth over my bare ass, “don’t stop.” He squeezes my cheeks, his fingers moving closer and closer to my core. Kylo peels my fingers from the wand, pulling my hand until my arm lies flat on the mattress beside me. It changes the pressure against my clit just enough that it pulls me back from the edge as his fingers start to explore my pussy. “You’re so wet,” he mumbles, more to himself than he me. “I bet you taste like candy.”

“Lick me,” I beg, hips thrusting back against air with need, but while he brings his lips to my ass, laying wet, sloppy kisses against my skin, he doesn’t lower his mouth to where I want him most. “Nope,” he says, and I feel his beard against the back of my thigh, “but I’m going to make sure you come so hard you break my fingers in that cunt of yours.”

When he finally penetrates me with his fingers, I moan loud and guttural, arching into his touch. “No man but me has ever brought you this kind of pleasure,” he rumbles, and I nod my head frantically, in agreement. “I’m the only one who’s ever seen you like this. Bare, wanton and begging for release.” Truer words were never spoken. I keen at his voice, my internal muscles clenching around his fingers, the broad head of the massager rubbing against the sweet spot on my nub. “Your pussy is so fat and swollen. These pink little lips swallow me whole.”

Kylo smacks my ass, and it shocks me out of my skin. The slapping sound reverberates in the room and my orgasm bursts from my center, my nerve ending exploding like fireworks. He pushes me through it, a hand on the base of my spine to hold me still, his fingers still working in and out of my center, until I’m panting in overstimulation, tears streaming down my eyes as I skitter to hit the off button on the vibrator.

“Roll over,” he growls, and I twist as he pushes, landing prone and spread on the side of my bed. “Can I come on you?” he snaps, his hand working at his cock with a furious pace.

I have no room yet for words, and I nod once again as he walks on his knees to hover over me, his fly open, just enough to show me that he didn’t bother with any underwear when he got dressed this morning.

“Gonna paint you in my cum. Use my cum like finger paints.”

Kylo’s dick is fat and swollen, every drip of his precum swiped away by his hand as he twists his wrist at the tip before slamming it back down the length of his cock. It takes less than a minute, with me lying there stupefied at the sight of him, before he’s coming all over my belly and breasts. He makes a conscious effort with his aim, seeming to try to get it as many places as he can.

He softens in his hand, his jerking slowing to a stop. But just as I think he’s done, he drags his fingers through the mess on my torso, spreading it everywhere he missed during his orgasm.

“That,” he pants, as if he’s just run a marathon instead of jerking off on my chest, “was by far the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

My embarrassment, gone five minutes ago in the rush of endorphins and pheromones, returns in a blazing glory. Tinged with an unmistakable hint of pride. Unable to articulate anything more than the moan that slips out at his words, I cover my eyes with my forearm as he collapses onto the bed next to me, grabbing my vibrator and dropping it unceremoniously to the floor beside the bed.

I lie there contemplating the weight of his words until the warmth turns chilly, and without being asked, Kylo uses a dirty shirt to clean me up.

_**Chapter 9** _

_**Kylo** _

Rey’s still asleep when I get back from Lowes. It’s unusual. She’s been an early riser the whole time I’ve been here. But I left the house at 7 a.m for plumbing supplies and grabbed breakfast at McD’s, and she appears to be in the same spot I left her in two hours ago.

Making up my mind spur of the moment, I leap onto the bed. I have a half a second to panic that it won’t hold the strength of my weight landing on it, and then I’m straddling her, swallowing her surprised _whompft_ sound with the squeaks of the bouncing mattress. She really needs a new bed. This one is probably as old as the house.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey! It’s time to get up sleepy head. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

Rey doesn’t say anything intelligible, outside of _ugh_ and what I think is _getoffofmeasshole_. Instead, she grabs the edge of the blanket, attempting to pull it over her head while burrowing down inside of it. I roll off the bed, landing on my hands and knees, and yank of the blanket, pulling it clean away from the mattress and onto the floor.

“Hey!” she yells, disgruntlement tinged with laughter. “Give it back,” she whines, curling into a ball.

“Nope! I’ve got breakfast. Then, it’s time to work.”

“Noooo, you asshole. I don’t work on the weekends. Give me back my blanket.”

She sounds petulant, so unlike herself, and it’s freaking adorable. I climb back up on the bed, grabbing a wrist in each hand and holding her to the mattress.

“Can’t you leave yet?” she asks, pushing against her bindings. “Surely with a mask, and maybe some aerosol hand sanitizer, it would be safe for you to fly far, _far_ away from here?

“Do you know,” I ask conversationally, as if I’m not actively assaulting her, “that you have a brand-new bathtub wasting away in your storage shed?”

She pushes against me, to no avail, her face scrunched up with the effort. When that fails, she tries to knee me, but all it takes is me dropping my ass onto her hips and she’s affectively pinned underneath between me and the bed.

“Of course, I know, asshole. I’m the one that bought it.” She strains against me again, and I smirk at her frustration, all remnants of sleep forgotten. “Why did you feel the need to pounce on me to tell me that?”

“Because today, we install it.”

She immediately stills, excitement and surprise making her face light up.

“Really? You can do that?”

I scoff at the insult implied at her insinuation.

“Ye of little faith. I’m hurt you even have to ask. We’ll be lounging in that tub before dinner time.”

“Yeah, okay. Absolutely,” she chirps, smiling ear to ear. Then she gives me a bemused look, pushing back against my hold again.

“Ummm, Kylo. It’s hard for me to get up when you’re still sitting on me.”

All her squirming underneath me left an impression, and I waggle my eyebrows at her and give my hips a little thrust.

“Oh, it’s up, and hard. Don’t you worry about that Sting Ray. But, if I start in on you now, I’ll get never around to installing that tub.”

I lean in to kiss her anyway, debauching her mouth until she’s writhing underneath me for a whole new reason, before I release her wrists and swing my leg up and off of her.

I sit at her kitchen table and watch as she makes a trip to the bathroom in nothing but her shirt and panties. Going in, her hair is a mess, her mouth is caught wide in a yawn. I can hear the toilet flush, the sink run, and finally, the low buzz of her electric clippers.

She leaves the bathroom five minutes later with her hair tucked back into a knot on her head and her undercut smooth and even. Her shirt is draped over her shoulder, her nipples hardened in the air, and I tighten my grip on the Styrofoam coffee cup until I feel it bend under my fingertips. I have to remind myself that I have a goal for today, and a marathon sex session will only derail that. She smiles at me, not bothering to shut her door when she goes back into her room.

How I got so comfortable living with this woman so quickly I’ll never know. It’s scary, honestly, and not something I want to think about. I need to get back in the air, back in the cockpit, before something happens, and I no longer want to.

This is the longest I’ve been without being in the sky since I learned to fly. Even when I was between the Air Force and working for an airline, I still made it into the clouds once a week, renting single passenger planes by the hour.

Thinking on it, this is the longest I’ve been in one place since I _left_ the Air Force. I’ve been on the go, in some form or another, since the military cut me free. It’s strange to think that, as desperate as I am to get into the air again, this is probably the most relaxed I’ve been since I became an adult. It’s easy being here with Sting Ray, in a way I haven’t experienced before.

It’s something to think on, that’s for sure.

But not today.

She emerges from her bedroom in a paint-splattered, worn t-shirt and another pair of leggings. This pair sports a hole and are obviously used to manual labor.

“You mentioned food?” she asks, and I merely point to the bag of McDonalds on the table, still filled with pancakes and three different types of breakfast sandwiches.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got a little bit of everything.”

“Aww,” she coos in a sarcastic voice. “It’s like in Pretty Woman, when Edward orders breakfast that first day.”

“Would that make me the prostitute, or you?” I ask her, and duck when a hunk of unbuttered pancake gets thrown in my direction.

“I think between the two of us, we know who the whore is,” she smirks, and I have to bow down to her epic burn. And the truth in her words.

“Touché,” I say, giving her a round of applause.

“Thank you, I thought of it all on my own. For some reason, I’m only quick witted around you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” she grins, before folding up a pancake and shoving it into her mouth.

_That_. That is what I like so much about being here with her. Jessica eats like a rabbit. Danielle lives off of champagne and air alone. Rey just shoved an entire McDonalds pancake into her mouth, chipmunk style, and didn’t even think twice about it.

“What?” she asks, giving me a weird look. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Nothing Sting Ray,” I say, bringing my cooled coffee to my mouth to cover up my grin. “Nothing at all.”

*****

“You didn’t tell me that switching out my bathtub meant knocking down half the walls in my bathroom,” she wails, looking at the bare corner where her shower-bath combo used to sit.

The distress clear on her face makes me laugh, even though I shouldn’t.

“We didn’t remove the walls, moron. Did you see us take down any drywall? The tub was against the studs. There weren’t any walls there to begin with.”

Immediately her face blanks, to be replaced with dawning comprehension.

“Oh. I knew that.”

I chuckle again but refrain from making a point that she knew no such thing.

“What’s next?”

We have removed all the hardware, the drain, and the shower head. Used the electric hand saw to remove the stud holding the bathtub in place, then, together, hauled it out to the street where the trash guys would pick it up. I triple checked that it was okay that we leave it there, but she assured me it would be. According to Sting Ray, it probably wouldn’t even make it to trash day. There’s a truck that goes around and picks up anything remotely useful from people’s garbage piles.

Not unheard of, I guess. Especially out in these parts. But not common practice in my little place in the world.

“Next up, we check to see if the floor is level.”

“Isn’t it already level?”

“How long has this house been here?”

“Good point. I’ll go get it.”

She bounds out of the bathroom, hands covered in her gardening gloves. I made her put her boots on, and she groused at how much she hates wearing shoes inside, until the first time she dropped something onto her foot. Funnily enough, her complaints died out into nothing after that.

It's a shame, really. I would have preferred to have her in a bikini all day. Or wearing nothing but her birthday suit.

“What if it’s not level?” she asks, handing me the extra-long level.

“Then we’ll throw down a layer of that quick-dry cement I bought this morning and share a beer while we wait for it to harden.”

“And then?”

“We wiggle the bathtub into its spot, make sure it fits, then take it back out again.” I can see her getting ready to interrupt me, and I reach out and cover her mouth with my hand. “Then, we build the drain. That has to be done separately. You didn’t have one of those.”

I take the offered tool, then drop into a squat into the corner. It’s not level, not that I remotely expected it to be, but it’s not as bad as it could be. I grab the instructions for the new tub, measuring to ensure the drain is in the correct spot. That’s the hardest part, getting the drain right.

“Then we’ll install the tub. After that, I’ll go into the crawl space and listen and look for any leaks. If all looks good, we’ll be done. At least for today.”

“Today? What’s left for tomorrow?”

I look at her through my eyelashes, then give the studs a hard glare.

“Oh!” she giggles, smacking herself in the forehead, and I chuckle at how adorable she is. “The walls!”

“Yes. The walls. We’ll head back to Lowes or Home Depot. We need drywall, and then tiles. I know you said you wanted to keep the fifties vibe, but I’m not sure if that carries into pink subway tiles in the bathroom.”

She grins at me, sitting down on the toilet.

“Probably not.”

“I looked at tile this morning. We can probably do the whole shower for less than a hundred bucks if you go with the inexpensive stuff.”

Her smile transforms into a hard stare.

“I don’t like you buying shit for my house, by the way. If you’re going to make runs to the store, warn me first and I’ll give you my card. Give me the receipt from today and I’ll Venmo you the cash.”

“Kinda like I tried to pay you for food and keeping me out of the rain, and you told me quite colorfully to stick it up my ass and rotate.”

“Hmm,” is all she says as she scrambles out of the way as I rise from my squat.

I don’t care how much money she makes as an IT person. I still make more.

I grin at her, wiping my gloves off on my jeans.

“I’ll mix the concrete. You get me a beer.”

*****

It takes us longer than I’d hoped it would, but seven hours later, I’m sitting in her new sunken bathtub with Rey’s wet head against my chest.

“I am sore, as hell,” she moans, and I bring my hands to her shoulders, digging my thumbs into her muscles. “If I’d had known replacing the tub would be so much work, I never would have bought the stupid thing. Or would have hired someone else to do it.”

I lean my head back, forgetting for the dozenth time that there isn’t a wall behind me to rest it on yet.

“We’re not done yet, either. We still have to put the walls up.”

“Oh, hell no,” she says, her chest rising with her scoff. “It took me three years to get the bathtub in. I can wait another three years for the walls.”

“So, you’re not going to take a shower for three years either, Sting Ray?” I ask, gently reminding her the walls are there for a reason.

“Ugghhhhh,” she whines, flinging her head around on my chest. “I’ll tell you what. You install the walls, and the tile, and I’ll suck your dick afterwards. Maybe in between, too, depending on how much work there is.”

It’s a little unbecoming how quickly I agree to her terms.

_**Chapter 10** _

_**Rey** _

"How have you never read the Lord of the Rings before?"

He barely glances at me before he drops his gaze back to the book in his hand, nimbly turning the page. 

"I thought it was a nerd thing," he answers me, long after I think he's going to ignore the question.

Of course, he did—Mr. Too Cool for School.

"Hmmm. Now?"

My own book is of the fantasy genre tonight. However, I'm reading on my kindle instead of paperback like Kylo is. He's not actually reading Lord of the Rings. He finished that one a few days ago. From the looks of it, he's about halfway through The Return of the King.

"Samwise is a badass," he states without hesitation. I giggle under my breath before bringing Laurell K. Hamilton's latest back to my face.

It doesn't keep my attention for long, though. No matter how hard I try, my eyes keep drifting back to the man in bed with me. 

He's over the covers, where I'm buried underneath them. Wearing nothing but a pair of red boxers, the brightness of the fabric standing in stark contrast to the inky wings embedded in his back. He's lying on his belly, his head and elbows off the foot of the bed. I have no idea how that can be comfortable for him. Except for maybe because he has an eight pack instead of a permanent food baby like me.

"I can feel you staring at me," he intones, without ever taking his eyes off his book.

"I'm not," I stutter out, trying to sound offended.

"You are. I spent six years in the Air Force, Sting Ray. Situational awareness is something they teach you early on."

I give up on pretenses, putting my Paperwhite down on my bedside table.

"So, what if I am?"

He drops his book to the floor, rising on his hands and knees and crawling toward me.

"I guess the question would be why."

I slink down in the blankets, pushing my covers to the side when his phone goes off from his bedside table. He rolls his eyes, continuing his slow advance across the mattress until it goes off again. And then again, before the second time even finished. 

"Shit," he growls, reaching onto the table and then flopping onto his belly again to read what's going on.

His face contorts as I watch him, going from worried, to ecstatic, to concerned again, all in quick succession.

"They've lifted the flight bans," he says in a flat voice, glancing at me before turning back to his phone. 

Excitement for him, followed by something deep and painful, shoots through me. I ignore the feeling cutting me like a knife, tucking it away to examine later. Like after I'm dead.

"International flights are still grounded, but they've given the go-ahead for interstate travel, so long as we follow certain guidelines. I have to be at the airport at 6."

He looks at me, then back at his phone. As if he can't believe what he's reading. 

I look at my phone, seeing it's already after midnight. 

That's soon.

He's been here for almost a month. The initial two-week quarantine passed with barely a blip from the airlines. He got an email saying that they should have more information in a week. That was like ten days ago. I was starting to think he was never going to leave. 

"It's about damn time." I beam at him, genuine happiness making me smile. If it feels a little cracked around the edges, it's only because I've finally gotten used to having him here. I can admit, at least to myself, that it's going to be a little weird being all by myself again.

It'll be good, though. Real good. A relief, to not have to worry about Kylo anymore. 

He should be jumping on the bed and running around my house, packing up as quickly as possible. Instead, he stares at his phone as if it's betrayed him.

"I figured you'd be relieved. I know how anxious you are to get up in the air again."

At that, emotion finally cracks the impasse on Kylo's face. He pushes up onto his knees, his hair an untamed mess falling over his forehead. 

"Yes," he says, then louder with more feeling, "Yes! Yes, I am relieved. No offense, but I was getting a little stir crazy." 

I laugh at that, the understatement of the century.

"No offense taken, Kylo. You belong in the sky. Not in some dinky little house with a homebody. I was getting stir crazy on your behalf. If I had to put up with you much longer, I might’ve had to make you sleep in the yard. Where all stray dogs belong."

He grins at me, surely remembering our first conversation when he showed up on my doorstep, but then his face falls again.

"You won't miss me?" he asks, something genuine lacing his voice.

"I didn't say I won’t miss you." I reach toward him, pushing his hair up off his forehead. "But I think I'm ready for personal space again. It'll be nice to have my period in peace." 

A pretend shudder runs through him, or, at least, I hope its pretend, and I shove him with a hand on his chest.

"You know," he starts, and for the first time in as long as I've known Kylo, he looks unsure of himself. "I know we said what happens in quarantine stays in quarantine. But if you wanted, we could maybe keep seeing each other."

_That_ catches me off guard, but I dismiss the thought almost as quickly as he suggests it.

"No," I say, but smile when I do so. "We better not."

No matter how much fun this was, Kylo is a playboy. He couldn't promise me he'd be faithful, and I wouldn't want to ask him to. The thought had honestly never occurred to me. It's best if we leave it on good terms before one of us goes and does something stupid. Like fall in love.

He gives me a squirrely look, which only makes me smile harder. He lies down on the bed, lifting his hips to remove his boxers. 

"No?"

Kylo pulls a condom from the box sitting open on the table, dropping it onto the bed between us before making his way to me, pulling my sleep shirt over my head.

"No."

Without waiting for him to ask, I lie on my back and let him slip my panties from me, grinning as he drops them to the floor.

"Why not?" he questions as he brings his face to my neck, sucking on the spot just behind my ear lobe.

I get the feeling I'm being seduced.

"Because I had a really good time these last few weeks," I answer breathlessly, as he trails his lips down over my collar bones. “Make sure you tell my fellow sky sluts that you’ve finally had a great pair of tits in your mouth.”

He drops his chin against my face, laughing big belly laughs.

"I'm gonna miss these fat titties," he mumbles, wrapping his lips around said titty, and sucking it hard into his mouth.

I'm at the time in my cycle where I'm most sensitive, and I arch into his touch, practically moaning only from his tongue on my nipple. "That makes no sense, by the way," he says, and I realize he's back to talking about us continuing to hook up. 

"I'm a woman," I pant as I guide his mouth onto my other breast. "It's my prerogative."

He grunts at that, fingers gliding over my hips and following the curve of my thighs.

"It makes no sense," he complains again, spreading my legs and dropping to his belly between them. He throws one ankle haphazardly over his shoulder, and brings his face between my thighs, laying open-mouthed kisses and love bites up my inner legs.

He uses his hands to open my labia, examining me with a sculpture’s eye, before flattening his tongue against my folds and licking a hot stripe from slit to clit. I flatten my hands against the mattress as he uses his tongue on me one last time, slicking my hole with his tongue before slowly working his fingers in. He knows me well by now, and as he sucks on my lips with force this side of painful and flicks my clit with his tongue, I come in a spectacular explosion of fireworks. Momentarily forgetting his need to breathe, I hold his head against my crotch, grinding against his face and squeezing him with my knees. 

"Sorry, sorry," I pant, my knees going weak about the same time I remember he requires oxygen to live, and he growls at me in response, reaching for the condom and ripping open the foil.

"Man, I fucking love that," he rumbles, sheathing his cock before rubbing his head around my center. I'm riding the post-orgasm bliss train, not yet a functioning human, as he slicks himself in my cum, drenching the length of his condom-covered dick.

"You sure you don't want to keep this up after tonight?" he asks again, easing his dick into my entrance. It's a tight fit, as always. He gives me a moment to acclimate to his size before beginning to thrust in and out.

"I'm," I start, then stop when he kisses me, examining my tonsils with his tongue. "Sure," I spit out when he lets me up for air. 

Why do men always think they know better than us? If I wanted a boyfriend, I’d ask for one.

"Better make it good then," he growls, before taking my left leg and raising it over his shoulder. 

I was _not_ made to bend like this. Absolutely not.

But when Kylo re-adjusts his arms so that they're planted on either side of my breasts and suddenly hits a spot inside of me never touched by man before, I realize that maybe I wasn't _not_ made to bend like this either.

His hips piston into me like it's their sole mission in life, hitting that sweet spot inside of me over and over. Sweat coats his brow, and with every snap of his hips, he tries to kiss me, failing more times than not. 

He lifts his arm, and I think he's going to touch me, when he takes my hand in his, and brings it to my clit.

"Touch yourself," he pants, "I want to watch you as you come apart around me."

It won't take much, and I rub tight, hard little circles across my nub as Kylo loses himself to the rhythm of our sex.

We're both panting, sweat pouring from out skin. It makes us slick and slippering, and he uses that to his advantage, pushing deeper with every thrust. My pants turn to moans, and I try to tell him as I'm coming, but all that comes out is a series of grunts and whimpers that I'd be horrified about if I had the brain cells left to care, and if he wasn’t lost in his own release.

Kylo seems to get the point either way, because he moves to let my burning leg drop, and plasters himself to my chest, stealing what little breath I had left with his kisses. 

I dig my fingers into his scalp, pulling at that glorious head of hair until we're nothing but a quivering, panting mess on my bed. 

"You sure," he asks one more time, still gasping for breath.

I try to laugh at his tenacity, but don't yet have enough air in my lungs to do it. Instead, it comes out a breathy little huff.

"I'm sure."

He rolls off of me, taking care of the condom before grabbing his phone. Presumably, to set his alarm.

"What about your stuff," I ask, swallowing back a yawn.

"I'll handle it in the morning."

He gathers me to him, my back against his chest, and I'm asleep before I can ask my next question.

*****

It's a Saturday, so my alarm isn't set. We were planning on going hiking today. Instead, I wake up alone. For the first time in a month. The house is quiet, still, and I can't decide if I want to laugh or cry.

There's a sticky note on my phone.

Check your email. 

Kylo

It's already after nine, which means Kylo has been gone for hours.

I do as I'm told, skipping all my other notifications and going straight for my email account.

Clicking on Kylo's email, I open what looks like his schedule for the next three months. Highlighted are dates and times, and layover information of the handful of times he'll be in Atlanta.

Laughing until tears stream down my face, I type out a reply to Kylo before closing the app and getting out of bed.

I stretch, my toes digging into the carpet as I do my best to touch the ceiling. 

A smile, slow and sweet, etches across my face.

_See you soon._

_Sometime in the not too distant future…_

The front door opens, then slams again, the sound faint over the pounding of the shower head. A normal girl might freak out at someone walking into her home unannounced, when she lives all by herself.

But I’m not most girls. I once left my keys in my ignition, with the windows down for an entire weekend, and when I finally realized I couldn’t find my keys, my car was exactly as I left it. Only damp inside, since it sprinkled the night before. So, no, I’m not worried about a stranger

Instead of a shiver of fear, a thrill of anticipation runs through my body. Only one person ever walks straight into my house like that. Because, he claims, since he replaced the regular doorknobs for the fancy digital locks, it’s only fair that he knows the codes.

I move the shower curtain to the side and watch as he starts stripping off clothes on his walk through the living room. Thank goodness I kept the bathroom door open. Kylo’s shirt lands on the couch. His shoes are dropped at random intervals. He doesn’t bother to pull his belt from his dress slacks, only loosens his pants enough to shove them from his hips and drops them to the floor in the bathroom.

“How long do you have?” I ask him, my voice breathy and tight.

“Twelve hours,” he growls as he steps into my bathtub. Cupping my face in his hands he lowers his lips to mine with an intensity that takes my breath away. My back hits the tiles on the shower, the ones he installed himself.

Twelve hours.

I can make that work.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> THERE WILL BE A PART 2!!!!!!
> 
> Thanks for playing with me today! If you like what you read, follow me at  
> Amandafayebooks.com  
> https://smarturl.it/amandafayebooks  
> https://www.facebook.com/amandafayebooks  
> https://www.facebook.com/groups/317816349161061  
> https://www.subscribepage.com/amandafaye-books  
> Tumblr: Motherof4Dragons


End file.
